Into the Lion's Den
Here in this place, us Easterners were nothing but ching chong ching. ……………
I had no idea how many hours I'd been walking. I'd even grown a little accustomed to the feel of the pistol pressing into my gut. My legs felt like lead, but there was no choice but to keep going. I couldn't just stand still in the middle of the road.
And finally, buildings came into view. Crumbling concrete walls, windows ringed with barbed wire, trash littering the streets. This was the outskirts of Santa Esperanza, the most dangerous city in the world.
"Ugh……."
My throat was on fire. I wanted to drink anything—water, cola, whatever. Looking around, I spotted a small shop by the roadside. No proper sign, just a hole-in-the-wall neighborhood store. But to me right now, it was an oasis.
I pushed open the door. A rusty bell jingled.
The inside was dim. Half the ceiling fluorescents were burnt out, and the shelves held scattered cans and bags of snacks covered in dust. Behind the counter sat an old man with a bulging belly, reading a newspaper in front of a tiny fan.
I ignored him and headed straight for the fridge. Luckily, there were a few colas. I grabbed the coldest-looking one from the back and went to the counter.
"One cola."
Only then did the owner look up from his paper. He seemed startled for a moment when he saw me, but his face quickly went blank.
"Ten pesos."
I pulled a bill from my wallet and handed it over. Popping the cap, the cola hissed with carbonation. I took a swig, and the cold liquid slid down my parched throat, quenching the burning thirst.
"Haa…… feels like I'm alive again."
I pulled the bottle from my lips and let out a sigh. My mind finally started to clear.
As I turned to leave, the owner suddenly spoke up.
"Hey, chino."
Chino. Meant Chinese. In Central and South America, it was a catch-all slur for anyone East Asian. Thoroughly racist, in other words.
Well…… at least he didn't go with full-on ching chong.
I kept my expression neutral despite the absurdity bubbling inside.
"While I'm saying something nice, you should find a way to get a car and get the hell out of this city right now."
I didn't like the chino label, but this guy seemed genuinely concerned for me.
"Thanks for the advice. But I've got somewhere to be."
"Somewhere to be?" The owner snorted. "You're crazy. This ain't a tourist spot. Outsiders like you usually end up in one of two places: the morgue or a ditch."
He added, "If you wanna live even one more day, don't wander around at night, no matter what. It's dangerous even in daylight, but night……."
I could guess the rest without him spelling it out.
"Got it. Thanks."
I bowed my head in thanks. As I headed for the door, his voice came from behind again.
"It's your life anyway…… but pray, chino. That's what you need."
……………
I pushed through the door and stepped outside. The hot air filled my lungs again.
Appreciate the concern, but the racism's a bit much.
Still, considering Santa Esperanza's reality, this was practically cute. In a place where severed heads dangled from streetlamps, what did calling an East Asian chino matter?
A few steps from the shop, and sweat was already soaking me. I ducked into the shade and spotted an old bench leaning against a building wall. I sat down, sipping the cola slowly as I gathered my thoughts.
"Whew…… what the hell am I even doing?"
The image of that corpse hanging from the lamppost flickered in my mind. The rotting face, the bloodied chest scrawled with Spanish for "rat," the crows pecking at it.
And…… the shopkeeper's warning. Outsiders end up in the morgue or a ditch.
"Ma Hyuksu…… you were gonna film this shit and upload it to YouTube?"
For a channel with 1,500 subscribers. All on the hope that going where no one else dared would make him famous.
I'd become Ma Hyuksu, just like I'd become Han Minseo or Yeoreum.
But Ma Hyuksu was different from them. I couldn't keep doing what this idiot had been up to. It was suicide by any measure.
"……Sorry, Ma Hyuksu. I'm not quite that insane."
I pulled a folded paper from my pocket. The contact for the guide's emergency extraction service.
But would the guide even come to Santa Esperanza? From Ma Hyuksu's memories, the guide had been dead set against ever setting foot here.
"Should've grabbed the guide back there and turned around."
Walking all the way to Santa Esperanza had been a monumentally stupid call. One I'd never repeat.
But it wasn't too late yet. I could still turn back. Ten kilometers sounded hellish, but better than ending up as lamppost decor.
Either way, I needed to decide fast and act. Like the shopkeeper said, once the sun set and night fell, it'd be insanely dangerous.
Call the guide right now and bail, or find a place to crash for just one night.
What to do? Walk back down that hellroad? Get caught out after dark? Maybe hole up in a motel or something till morning?
Bang!
A gunshot rang out nearby.
"Wh-what?!"
Rat-tat-tat! Rapid fire followed. At least a submachine gun or assault rifle.
Hairs stood up all over my body.
Fuck, shooting in broad daylight?
I couldn't process it. Jump up from the bench and run? But where? Away from the shots? Risk drawing the eyes of these trigger-happy psychos while sprinting through the city?
Then I saw someone running from afar. A woman. Tank top, cargo pants, combat boots. Ponytail whipping in the wind.
But she wasn't just running. She kept glancing back, fleeing desperately from something.
What the hell……?
As she got closer, I saw her face. Sun-tanned skin, sharp jawline, predator's eyes. Striking, if not glamorous.
She spotted me. Then veered straight toward me.
Why this way?!
She didn't stop. If anything, she sped up. About two hundred meters behind her, two men gave chase. Armed with assault rifles, decked in body armor.
Suddenly, as she ran, she reached to her thighs with both hands and spun her body in a perfect reversal.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots. Almost simultaneous. The pursuers' heads snapped back. Red mist sprayed the air as they crumpled to the asphalt.
"Holy shit……."
Two hundred meters away. While sprinting. Pistol shots, no sights. Dead-on headshots. No hesitation, no misses.
Movie-level marksmanship.
After dropping them in an instant, she bolted straight for me—and slid under the bench right in front of it.
Like a baseball player sliding into home.
I froze. Couldn't move a muscle.
Two men had just died right in front of me. Bullet to the head. And the killer was now hiding under my ass.
"Cállate, chino."
Shut up, chino.
A low whisper rose from under the bench.
"Si haces alguna estupidez cuando lleguen los otros, te meto una bala en los huevos y otra en el culo."
If you pull any stupid shit when the others arrive, I'll put one bullet in your balls and another up your ass.
Hot metal brushed my calf. The barrel of the pistol that had just killed two men.
Fucking hell…… she's dead serious.
The woman under the bench was a ruthless killer. She'd shoot first if things went south. No way did I want to die with bullets in my nuts and ass.
Footsteps approached. Multiple people running, getting closer.
The woman under the bench held her breath.
Please…… just pass by.
But reality always served me the worst-case scenario, and this time was no different.
……………
Six men stopped in front of me. Armed to the teeth with assault rifles and SMGs.
"Oye, chinito."
Chink kid. Way more insulting than chino.
One aimed his barrel at my forehead.
"Where's that bitch?"
"I don't know! I don't know anything!"
My voice shook for real. No acting—this was pure terror. Caught between the gun under the bench and the one in my face, I couldn't move.
"Don't know?"
A skinhead among them smacked my cheek lightly with his hand.
"You wanna die, chink?"
Another pressed his barrel right against my head.
Fuck…… is this how I go?
Then the scrawniest one at the back noticed something.
"Hold up, ain't that a camera?"
He pointed at my chest. The action cam for YouTube videos.
"Camera?"
The mood shifted. Got even uglier.
Their threats turned into straight-up murder vibes.
"What are you, some DEA stooge?"
"No! It's for YouTube, YouTube!"
But they didn't buy it.
"Or maybe a La Luna Negra pup?"
La Luna Negra. Rival cartel, from what I could tell.
"No, I was just filming travel vids! YouTube, I swear!"
"Bullshit, this chink."
The skinhead raised his gun.
"It's true! Check my phone! I got a channel!"
But they weren't listening.
"Spies always got an alibi."
The woman under the bench stayed dead silent. Like she didn't give a damn if I lived or died.